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Recovery

Ten years ago I began to see signs in a different language–signs that I ignored. However, even though I disregarded them, they persisted in ever growing intensity. Was I a traveler exploring this vast world of ours? No. I was just a mom who held down a part time job while homeschooling my two daughters full time. So, what were these foreign signs? They were the signs of my youngest daughter’s journey down the rabbit hole we call eating disorders.

Starting my recovery was the hardest decision I ever made, but I was thankful to have a supportive and trusting person by my side. My partner was the first person I ever opened up to about my eating disorder. Before them, like many, I was very secretive and ashamed of my disorder. Recently, that relationship has ended and as hard as it has been, re-entering the dating world has proven to be even more difficult.

When I started eating disorder recovery five years ago, I thought—or, really, hoped—it would be like an escalator. You hop on, and whoosh, straight up from there. You decide to recover, then you do it, then you’ve done it. Simple.

That’s not quite how it went.

Today, I feel good. Strong. If not confident, at least less unconfident. Disordered thoughts are few and far between.

The holidays present a lot of challenges for people with eating disorders. Not only is there a heavy focus on food, body image, and “healthy” new year’s resolutions, but often there are interactions with distant family members or friends—people you don’t necessarily see on a weekly or monthly basis.

This doesn’t affect me as much anymore, but seeing distant relatives used to be a trigger for me because many of them didn’t know about my gender identity.

TRIGGER WARNING: the following material may be triggering for some individuals – please read with caution.

I was always my daddy’s little girl. I would watch Coronation Street and Seinfeld with him on Sunday mornings as a child, and curl up in his lap. I didn’t understand the humor in these shows or why my dad liked them so much but still I sat with him – I didn’t inch for the remote or distract him.

When my grandmother was 80 years old, she was a ‘quit smoking’ expert - she quit more times than most people have cooked lunches. She eventually quit and lived to the ripe old age of 98 - a prime example of never quitting.

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About this blog

Read about how real life experiences impact self-concept and body image. Writers reflect a diversity of opinions and perspectives.

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